Disclaimer- Butch Hartman, yadda yadda, insert denial of ownership here. This is a poem of no particular form, though it's based loosely off the Italian terza rima... It's just something that bit me.
Letter To A Phantom
To one who walks the Paths of Dread
Where fools and angels fear to tread
And pace the razor-edged divide
Between the Living and the Dead:
A smiling mask hides tears you've cried
You've seen the ruins of your pride
And each and every chance to find
Your shelter from the rain, denied
And cold doubts whisper in your mind,
They say it's folly to be kind
That every hand to every friend
Is only one more tie that will unbind.
Now nightmares seem to never end,
Your waking life they shape and rend
Until you wake to sleeping fears
And bleeding wounds that never seem to mend.
And his voice whispers in your ears,
Warns of cold and lonely years
That turn a wounded heart to stone
And hate that floods a world with tears.
Pain and sorrow you have known,
Though roads ahead are still unknown
Remember that this once was said--
Remember, you are not alone.